"Come on, Garret, let's try this again," I urged the Tummy Acher, trying hide the strain in my voice as I coaxed him into carrying me. The crossbow bolts lodged in my limbs felt like hot iron stakes, and removing them had proven more difficult than I had anticipated. I managed to remove the bolt Quan had driven into my hand, but they all were barbed and deeply embedded in my muscles, rendering my movements jerky and agonizing. It was said that the Chinggis warriors wore silk shirts to catch arrows, to wrap around their barbed heads, allowing them to be pulled out without ripping the wounds apart. While I had received several articles of silk-like clothing from another of my sponsors, they were a bit too revealing to be useful for such protection.
I was matted with ash and dirt which stuck to me because for the thin coating of Garret's saliva covering me. I couldn't walk, not with numerous bolt shafts sticking out of me, and I was running out of time. Zombified mobs, some marked with pitch black eyes signifying their demonic possession, were closing in, their guttural groans echoing through the ruined streets. I needed to find shelter, and I needed Garret to carry me.
I had spotted a potential refuge on the map and was now trying to coax Garret into bring me there without swallowing me again. It would be difficult to guide Garret if I couldn't see. The Tummy Acher seemed to be enjoying himself, giggling with delight each time he clamped his jaws around me. His playfulness was unsettling, a blend of a puppy’s harmless play-biting and a performer’s head-in-the-mouth-of-a-lion trick. I was at the mercy of a walking garbage disposal, and just a flip of a switch would see me torn to shreds.
I had to remove Velma through the equipment interface; her jacket sleeves were pinned by bolts in my shoulder and arms, making her impossible to take off normally. This exposed the nape of my neck where my mane was thickest, and I was desperately giving Garret directions on how to scruff me.
“Ah ah ah, close your mouth more. More. Bite where I’m pointing. Lower! Not my head. Here!”, I instructed, trying to guide his jaws away from my head. Earlier attempts had seen him carrying me sideways, only for his teeth to clamp down on the bolts protruding from my body. The resulting pain had been excruciating, a white-hot agony that had me screaming. Garret had dropped me abruptly, knocking wind out of me, leaving me gasping and spasming on the ground.
Garret’s single large bucked tooth dug into the back of my neck, pulling my pelt taut. As he lifted me, my feet dangled limply above the ground, and the bolts embedded in my shoulder and abdomen shifted painfully. My eyes watered and I let out a muffled yelp before I could stop myself. Garret giggled worriedly but didn’t drop me this time. I longed for something to bite down on, but the squeaking of my chew toy seemed to attract the attention of the nearby mobs.
“You’re doing good, Garret. Now head that way,” I said through gritted teeth, indicating a narrow side street with my snout.
The sky above was a turbulent canvas of fiery hues, the rising sun painting the clouds with shades of orange and red as ash and cinders floated down like snowflakes. The street was a chaotic mess of rubble from collapsed structures, the original forms of the buildings now lost beneath the debris.
Thankfully, the map accurately depicted the outlines of the original buildings, guiding Garret and me through the ruined city. But, easy navigation didn’t translate to easy going. In addition to his naturally bouncy gait, Garret frequently stumbled over the debris, each misstep sending violent jolts through my body, while every step was a fresh wave of agony.
After what felt like an eternity of excruciating minutes, we finally reached our destination. The building appeared to be some kind of restaurant, its structure still mostly intact. I directed Garret towards the back. He attempted to force his way through the double doors but only succeeded in getting stuck.
"Garret, put me down," I instructed in a strained whisper. Garret unwedged himself from the doorway and unceremoniously dropped me where I crumpled onto the checkered floor. When I recovered, I retrieved Garret’s pet carrier from my inventory and sucked him inside. It was like a pokeball but in the shape of a metal cube. I couldn't risk him wandering off and eating a zombie. Few things could hurt Garret, but consuming undead flesh would kill him immediately. Tummy Achers all had weaknesses, gaining a new weakness every time they died, and eating the undead was what normally killed him. There were also the demons to consider. Even if Garret could regenerate, if he was pulled into Sheol, there would be no way I’d get him back. He needed to remain in his pet carrier for the rest of the floor.
I cast Wall of Fire, aiming to block the entryway, but instead, flames burst to life in the middle of the street. Without Velma to guide my spell casting, my accuracy was mediocre at best. But, hey, at least I didn’t set myself on fire this time. With a huff of mild irritation, I used my Control Flame ability to reshape the errant flames and the Continual Flame spell to give the fire a Persistent enchantment. The resulting blaze effectively blocked off the street, its heat promising to keep the mobs at bay while I was otherwise indisposed.
Inside the restaurant, there were a few ghosts but no real immediate threats. The eighth floor was filled with memory ghosts: spectral recordings of people from the surface, reenacting their final days on Earth. I slid myself across the smooth tiled floors towards the kitchen, the journey maddeningly slow as I could only use one arm well enough to push myself along.
In the kitchen, the ghosts of a few staff members went about their morning routine, preparing breakfast as if nothing had changed. The smell of eggs and meat frying reached my nose, and despite the pain radiating through my body, my stomach growled in response. How long had it been since I last ate?
The ghosts paid me no mind as I dragged myself towards my objective: a walk-in freezer. I had spotted it on the map and was relieved to find it exactly where I expected. It seemed like the perfect place to hunker down since I couldn’t make it to a saferoom. With a grunt, I pulled myself inside, closed the door, and wedged the head of one of my hand axes into the doorframe as a makeshift jam. After giving the door a solid tug to test it, I was reasonably confident that no regular zombie would be able to break in. At least, that was the hope. Given my run of luck, I'd probably find out the hard way.
The cold air in the freezer was a welcome relief from the burning pain radiating from the numerous wounds perforating my body. I propped myself up against the metallic wall, settling between crates filled with bottles of common sodas such as Sprite and Coke, as well as some local brand called Materva.
The trip from the doorway to the freezer left me panting and I took a moment to rest. The pain from the bolts was still overwhelming, and my hands shook uncontrollably. But at least now, I had a moment to breathe and prepare for the next step.
My plan was relatively simple: I was going to get shitfaced. Not drunk, mind you, but intentionally giving myself the Shitfaced debuff. Apparently, most aliens, including several human species, couldn't metabolize alcohol like humans from Earth. The dungeon, designed by these aliens, didn’t recognize Earth-human intoxication as a status effect since it wasn’t technically poisoning. So, most crawlers from Earth, if they remained human, could safely drink large quantities of alcohol without suffering from the debuff. They could still get shitfaced in the general sense, but it wouldn’t affect their player stats.
While the effects of drunkenness varied from person to person, the Shitfaced debuff came with fixed penalties for anyone afflicted: a 10% decrease to all stats, a 10% increase chance of spell misfire, along with dulled senses and loss of fine motion control. Normally, a crawler had to get absolutely sloshed to acquire this debuff, if they got it at all. But for me, being a Gnoll, it was the opposite. Gnolls had a naturally low tolerance for alcohol, making my player race highly susceptible to the debuff. A few sips of any alcohol were enough to get me Shitfaced—all without actually feeling drunk.
Well, not what I’d consider drunk, anyway.
There weren’t many benefits to the debuff, admittedly. The penalty to constitution was pretty bad, as it governed my health pool and regeneration. But along with dulled senses came a dulled sense of pain, and what I really needed now was help handling the agonizing process of removing a dozen or so bolts from my body. I was well-stocked on standard healing potions, so the rate of regeneration wasn’t a concern at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, I reached into my inventory and pulled out one of the several bottles I had procured while in Ulaanbaatar—Shiguderi milk vodka. I had originally intended to bring them to the Christmas party Louis was planning for the guild. It wasn’t actually Christmas on the planet's surface; which was now somewhere around the end of March. But the eighth floor’s recording of the surface was set for December and included Christmas Day.
For Louis, that was reason enough to host a party.
It was a silly idea but it had merit. Everyone in the guild needed a break and a morale boost, my team included, and we all were already in the habit of eating together. I was looking forward to seeing how my fellow guild members reacted to the Mongolian delicacy of milk liquor. Despite being called vodka and even looking clear like vodka, it smelled and tasted like soured milk. Very sour milk. My mother used to make homemade, undistilled versions of milk liquor. But even with the nostalgia, I could barely stand the stuff.
I didn’t end up making it to the Christmas Party; that was the day my team fought the Keyholder.
With some annoyance, I realized that I didn't have a corkscrew to open the bottle. After fumbling for a moment, I discovered I could uncork it from within my inventory. Still, I needed to take it out to drink it since it wasn't a potion. I summoned a small flame in my hand and began heating the bottle. Milk vodka, like sake, was best served hot. After a minute, I had a steaming bottle of the so-called vodka. Before taking a sip, I flicked some of the liquid into the air, onto the ground, and placed a drop on my forehead, observing a drinking tradition from back home for my own amusement.
“Cheers,” I said, looking up at the ceiling, and took a swig. The taste and smell hit my senses like a slap in the face. I gagged and my whole body shuddering as my eyes began to water. It was only 12%, nowhere near as strong as real vodka, but something about fermented milk just hit harder. Warmth spread through my chest, and the world around me became a bit fuzzier.
You are now Shitfaced. Don’t forget to drink water next time.
Easier than expected, I thought, giving the bolt in my thigh a tentative tug.
“Fuuuck me,” I groaned aloud. Even with dulled pain, the sensation was excruciating. I remembered my first attempt with the bolt in my abdomen and felt a surge of hesitation. The debuff lowered my inhibitions a bit, but I needed more help.
I started chugging the bottle. At this point, I had nothing to lose. I was going to die on this floor anyway, so I might as well get drunk. Really drunk. It took several large gulps to finish the bottle, and towards the end, I found myself starting to enjoy the taste. Finishing the entire bottle probably wasn’t the best idea, but that was a problem for future Ren.
The effects hit me immediately. Moving felt like using a game controller set to high sensitivity and I set the bottle down with top much force. It didn't shatter, but it bounced off the floor and skittered under one of the wire racks holding ingredients. My head lolled to the side and came to rest on one of the soda crates as if my helmet was suddenly made of lead, and there was a noticeable delay in my vision.
Time to give it a go.
I took out my chew toy and placed it between my teeth once again. Without further thought, I grabbed the bolt in my thigh and pulled. It came out easily, though it left a large, bleeding hole in my leg. The pain was there, but it felt distant, almost surreal, as if there was something separating me from my body. It didn’t feel like it belonged to me.
But then again, that was true, wasn’t it? This wasn’t my original body. I was wearing the body of an alien, like a ridiculous Halloween costume.
No, not a costume, a fursuit, I corrected myself, chuckling. I am in an alien fursuit.
Velma: Ren, stop giggling and heal yourself! You’re bleeding out!
I stopped laughing when I noticed my health was in the red, below 10%, and reflexively used a healing potion. My health shot up 50%, and the wound in my leg closed. It seemed I had nicked an artery. I went back to giggling, amused for no apparent reason. Fortunately, I had enough sense to wait for my potion cooldown timer to run out before continuing.
While I waited, I opened another bottle, fumbling awkwardly with the chew toy in my mouth when I tried to take a sip.
By the time I had removed my third bolt—or was it my fourth?—I had to stop and take another healing potion. I had bitten the chew toy in half and now sipped on my drink as I waited for the cooldown to pass.
Feeling a sudden urge for company, I decided I was in the mood to chat with someone.
My messages were filled with unanswered texts from Carl, Imani, and the rest of my guild. They had been blowing up my chat after I had blown up the city capital. Carl and Imani had likely gotten the warning about the destruction of the stairwell vestibule. They’d all want to know what had happened, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Instead, I went into my private messages, finding my desired recipient under the crawlers I had blocked, and unblocking her. I sent her a message, grimacing at the effort it took to mentally type. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the debuff or my inebriation, but my messages were getting all messed up.
Ren: HEYYY DONUT. U there?
Donut: REN? IS THIS A PRIVATE MESSAGE? WHY ARE YOU MESSAGING ME LIKE THIS?
Ren: want sum1 to talk to. we never talk just u an i.
Donut: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO BLOCKED ME. NOT THAT I CARE TO CONVERSE WITH VERMIN.
Ren: does protest loudly.
Donut: WAIT, ARE YOU DRUNK? YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU? THIS IS RIDICULOUS. EVERYONE HAS BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU. MEANWHILE YOU ARE BUSY DRUNKING AND TEXTING ME LIKE YOU’RE SOME CHEAP HOOKUP I MET AT A BAR.
I felt myself smirk, finding amusement in Donut’s irritation.
Ren: only lil. SHITFACED not drunk drunk. not rly. needed it for surgry.
Donut: THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE. WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE IS QUAN? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE STAIRWELL? WHY AREN’T YOU DEAD LIKE THE REST OF YOUR TEAM?
I rolled my eyes at her barrage of questions. The cat knew how to engage an audience, but didn’t know shit about tact.
Ren: Fck you DONUT, stop yellin an mayb i tell you.
Donut: THIS IS HOW I NORMALLY TALK REN AND YOU REACHED OUT TO ME. I DON’T SEE HOW IT’S MY RESPONSIBILITY TO COTTLE YOU.
Cottle me? Did she mean coddle? I thought to correct her, but had a better idea..
Ren: hey DONUT, wanna know y Dnadia sold you to a garbage company?
Donut: OH PRAY TELL. WAS IT BECAUSE SHE WASTED TOO MANY CREDITS ON YOU PITIFUL ASS?
I grinned wickedly, feeling a perverse pleasure in baiting her.
Ren: cause youre trash.
Donut didn’t respond. When I tried to message her again, I was notified that I was blocked from contacting this crawler. She fucking blocked me. This made me chuckle as I went back to the bloody work of bolt removal.
Two bolts later, I received a new message from Carl.
Carl: Ren, are you okay? Where are you?
I frowned at the message. I hadn’t wanted to talk to him. But it figured that Donut would tell him I was up and about. I paused, taking a deep breath before responding.
Ren: in big freezer. takin out bolts. fuckin QUAN porcupined me. hurts like a bitch.
Carl: Ren, focus. What happened with Quan?
Focus. Right. Just let me flip that switch.
I tried to arrange my thoughts.
Ren: he flew away after i blew the stairwell.
Donut: TOLD YOU SHE WAS DRUNK. IT’S PROBABLY WHY SHE LOST.
Fuck you, Donut, I thought to say, but it wasn’t worth the effort, I didn’t have the energy.
Carl: You blew up the stairwell? Why?
Ren: couldnt win so fcked him. didnt mean to survive.
Carl: Do you know where Quan went?
I stared at the message, trying to recall those last few chaotic moments, but came up empty. Just noise, flashes of light, and pain. I let go of the thought.
Ren: duno. but shud be ded now. pox got him.
Donut: HE’S STILL ON THE LEADERBOARD, SO OBVIOUSLY NOT.
I growled in frustration. This was a conversation between me and Carl. Why couldn’t she just shut up?
Ren: hush DONUT. bout to pull another.
I yanked out another bolt, this one somehow lodged in my backside. It had the Ricochet enchantment, and had missed me only to bounce back and bite me in the ass. I wondered if Quan meant to fire this one. All the other bolts were cheap, non-magical munitions. Quan had gone for quantity over quality, not wanting to waste anything of value, except for the T’Ghee cards, which would disappear after the eighth floor.
Well, it’s mine now.
I was making good progress with removing the bolts from my arms and legs. Even in my addled state, I had figured out it was easier to push some of the more deeply lodged bolts all the way through my body and out the other side. Not something I’d be able to accomplish if I were more sober. My entire body was covered in blood, and I found myself in an ever-growing red pool. It was almost wall to wall at this point, and some of the blood was beginning to freeze. I found it hard to imagine all of it came from me. The healing potions must be replenishing my blood supply somehow.
Fucking magic.
I took another potion and waited for the cooldown to finish.
Ren: u 2 reach Imani yet?
Carl: No, we can’t approach the church. Ines has demons guarding the exit and is threatening to destroy the entrance to the stairwell if we get any closer.
Ren: well fck. got more of them plans?
Carl: Yes, and I am having Imani help me with this one. Ines wants us to meet her at the Fosca building, so Donut and I are stalling for time.
Part of me registered the direness of the situation, but everything outside my little walk-in freezer seemed so distant. Until I was mobile again and more sober, I wouldn’t be able to do anything else.
Just focus on what is in front of you now, nothing else.
The thing in front of me being the bolt still stuck in my abdomen.
I saved it for last this time. Despite being pressed inwards when Garret had accidentally bit down on it, it wasn’t deep enough to push through to the other side. It would have to be pulled. I still had a respectable stack of standard healing potions and the cooldown timer was up, but my constant use of the potion had healed whatever organ had been pierced around the barbed head of the bolt. Removing it meant tearing open my insides again. If I weren’t in the dungeon, I’d likely die from internal bleeding.
I placed a new chew toy in my mouth, a red-colored ball.
Ren: bout to pull bolt in my belly. gonna be a bitch. talk more after.
I ignored their responses as I grasped the bolt firmly with both hands and pulled.
Like the other bolts, it came out easily. Unlike the other bolts, this one hurt a hell of a lot more. Even in my stupor, the pain was deep and visceral. The ball fell from my mouth as I tried to scream and doubled over, knocking over several crates of soda as I writhed on the floor.
Donut: STOP YELLING IN CHAT. REALLY, REN, THIS IS JUST HYPOCRITICAL.
I must have left the chat open. I curled up tightly on the floor into the fetal position, grasping, while a wave of nausea rose in me. I tasted the bile rising in my throat.
Ren: christ fuckin damit! do gnolls hav glass kidneys? no other bolt hurt this much.
Carl: Just breathe and take a healing potion, it’ll pass soon.
Ren: No Shit, Sherlock!
Donut: CARL, DEAR, MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND MUTE HER UNTIL SHE’S DONE BEING MELODRAMATIC.
The pain intensified as the healing potion knit the hole in my side together, and then began to subside. My head was still swimming. I stayed curled up on the floor, panting, waiting for the feeling to pass. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. In and out, in and out. I continued to lie on the cold floor, unmoving.
Then, I promptly expelled the contents of my stomach—more than a bottle and a half worth of the sour-smelling alcohol. But it was probably for the best. Didn’t need it remaining in my system.
My head pounded, and my gut throbbed with a sickening pain that was slowly subsiding. As the minutes passed, I could feel myself starting to come out of my daze, but I kept my eyes closed and might have drifted off if Carl didn’t message me at that moment.
Carl: Ren, is everything okay?
I almost ignored him. I had reached out to Donut on a drunken whim but hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone else. I knew what he was going to ask, and I still wasn’t ready for it.
I responded anyway.
Ren: …no.
Stolen novel; please report.
Carl: Is there anything you can tell me?
Ren: I lost.
Carl: What happened?
I hesitated, my mental hand hovering over the keys.
Ren: dont want to talk about it. i need to tell u somethin.
Carl: What is it?
Ren: i lied about cuba.
Carl: What do you mean?
Ren: had other choices, i but still came.
Carl: It was still probably your best choice. There were two keys, and you couldn’t have known Imani would be here.
Ren: no carl, not what I meant.
You don’t need to tell him, I thought, it was never going to happen, even if you had tried.
Ren: im meant to kill you. or try at least. dnadia gave me an item to use against u. but dont think i would win. it doesnt want me to.
Carl: You mean the AI?
Ren: it made me fight their families. for our key. my entire team’s. i burned them all carl. even her little girl. right in front of her.
Carl: If the AI made you fight a hydra, then it meant to single you out. That isn’t your fault.
Ren: It wasn’t a hydra, a mangathai, more culturally appropriate it said, and more heads. a lot more.
Carl: It wasn’t really them. Just a mockery of the people you knew. They weren’t real.
Ren: they were real enough. khulan, she attacked me, tried to save her girl. mungun tried to stop her now hes dead. now theyre all dead.
Why was I telling him this? Carl had facilitated this conversation to get me to talk, to tell him what was going on so he could come up with a plan. He didn’t need to know these details, he already had enough to deal with. But now that I had started talking, it was harder to stop, so I continued
Ren: it wanted us to lose. for me to choose cuba. all so i could mess things up. but i tried to get around it. now my team is gone. punishment for not playing along.
I had their skulls now. Khulan and Chuluuna’s, along with several others, many from my own teams. Quan’s card made my totems kill them, but the system gave me the credit. My totem’s, my kill. My fire, my responsibility.
Ren: i just wished i chose paris. could have shown them the city before we died. its pretty this time of year. cold, but a nicer way to go than here.
Carl: It wasn’t your fault, Ren. They are doing the same thing to Imani. This place is designed to break us.
Ren: yeah, well it won. im broken.
Carl: You’re not broken, Ren. You’re just... human. Well, you know what I mean.
I smiled despite myself.
Ren: ur bad at this, Carl.
Carl: I know, just get some rest for now. We will talk more after. Just don’t freeze to death in there.
Ren: imma dog with a thick coat, remember? my room’s colder than this.
----------------------------------------
I drifted off at some point. Despite my tolerance for the cold, I awoke shivering. My fur had frozen to the floor, and ice crystals were forming on my muzzle. I peeled myself off the floor and sat up. The freezer looked like a scene from a chainsaw massacre. The entire floor was red, and blood was splattered over the walls and ceiling.
Crates worth of soda bottles were scattered across the freezer, some having burst open. Surprisingly, my second bottle of Shiguderi still remained upright and half full. I took it back into my inventory. After a few seconds of deliberation, I decided to grab a crate of Materva too. There was a foul sour taste in my mouth I needed to get rid of.
Stumbling out of the freezer, I sat in one of the restaurant's booths, snagging some food from a nearby table—baked eggs and toast. My head still swam as I slowly ate. I still had the Shitfaced debuff, but my stupor from before was wearing off. I felt awful and was covered in numerous debuffs. I was Sore as Shit, which was the result of having taken so much damage, and made me, well, sore as shit; Anemic, which resulted from the repeated blood loss, and probably why I felt so cold and weak; and, to my surprise, Hungover—so it seemed the dungeon still recognized that as a status. My fur was beginning to thaw and everything I touched stuck to me. All in all, I felt like hot garbage and never wanted a hot shower more than ever in my life. Gnoll's still took showers, and the guild had really nice one, courtesy of Donut.
The map showed no mobs nearby; they were staying away from the street I had set ablaze. I took a moment to rest and eat, feeling my energy slowly return. Sipping on some of the soda I’d taken—some kind of sweet carbonated tea—I pulled up my chat and started going through my missed messages. Most of it was Carl or a member of the guild trying to reach me, and nothing of real importance. I cringed as I went over my messages to Carl and Donut while inebriated, until something Donut said stood out to me.
Ren: Carl, what did Donut mean about Quan still being on the leaderboard?
Carl: He made it back into the top 10 not too long ago, and he’s still there.
I stared at Carl’s message, trying to process it through the fog of my hangover.
The leaderboards showed the top ten most popular crawlers in the dungeon, a metric based on level, view count, and several other factors, along with a bounty for killing them. Carl and Donut had been on the leaderboard since it started on the fourth floor, having climbed to 3rd and 2nd, respectively. The current #1 was a goat named Prepotente, who was somewhere in the Bahamas at the moment.
When a crawler from the leaderboard died, there was a system announcement, but I never received one for Quan.
Ren: How? How the hell is he still alive? Your slug pox should have killed him, what, about an hour ago? Even if it wasn't accelerated, he should dead by now.
Carl: I’m not sure how. But whatever he’s doing, it’s garnering a lot of attention. He’s already moved up to 8th.
Ren: What the actually fuck. Do we know where he is? Should I use another Eye in the Sky scroll?
Carl: Save them. My Find Crawler shows him in the Ghommid settlement at the Colon Cemetery. Donut and I are stationed nearby. He headed straight for the church after you blew the stairwell, which brought right to the settlement. Donut and I have been there before. There’s a temple with access to Club Vanquisher. He probably sought help from the clerics in the club.
Donut: YOU FORGOT TO MENTION THAT’S WHERE INES TURNED PAZ INTO A CARD AFTER WE RESURRECTED THE GODDESS YEMAYA AND YOU WERE INFECTED WITH SLUGPOX BY ASOJANO.
My head throbbed painfully from Donut’s sudden and jarring interruption. Trust Donut to focus on the details.
Ren: Quan doesn’t have access to Vanquisher, no player killer has access.
Carl: Player killers can still access the club, so long as they worship a god. I was given access by Emberus, and so could have Quan. Anyone who’s seen a god can worship them. And Quan has seen Emberus.
Seen was an understatement. Quan was fucking bodyslammed by the god.
Ren: Then where is he now? Is Quan still in the club?
Carl: They’d have kicked him out by now, but I can't see inside the settlement from the outside, so he could be anywhere in the settlement. I’m keeping watch and having Donut stay inside so neither Quan nor Ines can challenge her to a card fight.
I rubbed my temples, feeling myself growing agitated.
Ren: And what if Quan or Ines attacks you?
Carl: If Quan worships Emberus, we won’t be able to fight each other, not without angering Emberus. Ines is still at the Fosca Building best I can tell, and I’m fine leaving her there. Once Imani’s dealt with the demons at the church, I’ll can make my way there and then teleport Donut to my location.
Ren: And then what? Are you going to give your key to Imani? You know she isn’t going to take it. I don’t trust this bone key of yours, and neither will she.
Carl: That’s why I’m working on a plan to get around this key issue. I think there’s a way we can save every crawler on the floor without a key.
I growled as my frustration began boiling over.
Ren: The showrunners won’t allow that and you know it. This is just more of your self-sacrificing bullshit, Carl. You can’t afford that with everyone so close to the ninth floor.
Carl: There won’t be a ninth floor for any of us if only a fraction of us survive to face faction wars. We will all be slaughtered. We still have four days, enough to at least try something. Besides, I can’t leave the floor without speaking to this Amayon guy. I got a quest from Emberus to ask Amayon about the death of his son or some shit like that.
Ren: Fucking hell, Carl, isn’t this Amayon trapped in that serpent Ines is controlling? You’d be walking into an obvious trap. Not only that, if you are correct about Quan worshiping Emberus too, wouldn't he get the same quest? You’d be running into him too.
Carl: I’ve thought of that, but I’m more worried about Ines getting ahold of Quan’s robe, which is why Donut and I are trying to figure out how to deal with him.
Ren: No! I will deal with Quan and the Amayon quest. You secure the church exit and stay the hell away from Ines.
Donut: AND HOW DO YOU PLAN ON DOING THAT. YOU ALREADY LOST TO QUAN WHEN HE WAS SICK AND YOU STILL HAD A TEAM. SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE JUST GOING TO MAKE A BIGGER MESS FOR THE TWO US TO CLEAN UP.
I clenched my fists—I wanted to throttle that cat—but I manage to keep myself civil.
Ren: Carl said it himself. All anyone needs to do to worship Emberus is to have seen him. Well, I’ve seen him. Hell, I stood face to face with the damn god when he attacked my bubble thanks to you two, remember? And I don’t have to beat Quan, I just got to keep him occupied long enough for you two to get to the church. He’s been relying on consumable cards to fight us and he’s more vulnerable every time we face him. He won’t be able to use the same trick twice.
Donut: AND IN THE MOST LIKELY SCENARIO THAT YOU GET YOURSELF KILLED, THEN WHAT? WE STILL HAVE A LORD OF HELL TO CHAT WITH. DIDN’T YOU JUST PERFORM BACK-ALLEY SURGERY ON YOURSELF. YOU PROBABLY GAVE YOURSELF RABIES OR DISTEMPER.
Carl: Donut’s right, you are in no condition to fight. You’d just get yourself killed.
Ren: Thank you, Carl and Donut, now kindly shut the fuck up. This quest is obviously a suicide mission. Which is why the both of you should stay out of it.
Carl: How about this, I will send Samantha to pick you up. Then you and I will go after Quan, together. Even if I can’t harm him directly, I can support you with Samantha. I think I can teleport Donut’s totem to our location, so she can fight Quan without him being able to target her. We will do this as a team. We can deal with Amayon after.
Donut: HA. IT’S A CHEAT. IT’S PERFECT FOR YOU, REN. YOU LIKE CHEATING DON’T YOU?
Perhaps it was my anemia, but a cold shiver ran up my spine. I should have known this was going to happen.
Should have just let myself die.
Ren: No, you fuckers are not roping me into another Carl Plan.
Donut: FACE IT REN, IF YOU PLAN TO DIE ON THIS FLOOR YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO OUT WITH A BANG.
Carl: Where can I have Samantha find you?
I let out a deep, exasperated sigh, almost a growl. Part of me, a big part of me, just wanted to get to a saferoom, where I could give Garret and all my equipment to the guild, take a hot shower, go to bed, and never wake up. I was done with this game and had no reason to continue fighting beyond this floor. But no matter how tired I was, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that Quan could still get away, or that Imani, Carl, and even Donut, were still in danger. Not when I could still do something significant. Especially if whatever Carl was planning next actually worked out.
Ren: I will be where your exit used to be. But I want you to wait a bit. I have something to do there first.
----------------------------------------
I stumbled over the burning rubble of the Capitol Building, the air was thick with smoke and ash. I had found that alarm trap was still playing I Want it That Way, and took it into my inventory to silence it. It was playing loud enough to cause me to take auditory damage due to my sensitive hearing.
I had tried to locate Khulan and Chuluuna’s remains, but their markers had vanished from my map, which meant their bodies were no longer lootable. But that didn't mean they were gone. Somewhere deep beneath this rubble, their remains lay buried, and I couldn't leave them like that. My culture believed that the dead should be returned to the sky. We rarely buried our dead, often cremating them and scattering their ashes.
I doused the ruined building with an accelerant, Kilgore’s Morning Brew, something akin to napalm, using Velma to apply a coating to every corner of the building, ensure would all catch fire. Even if the sky above us is fake, I want to spread their ashes, just as I had with my own mother. I had been in France when I received news of her passing. Her health had been declining slowly for months, but my family hadn’t told me. They thought they were doing me a favor, not wanting to distract me from my career. When they finally did, it was too late. She died before I arrived home, before I could say goodbye.
When I returned to France, I took some of her ashes with me. I had always wanted to bring my mother to Paris, show her around the city. We would have explored the city together, seeing the art galleries, tasting the food, and standing atop the Eiffel Tower. She would have loved it. So it was from atop that tower I spread her ashes on the wind, that she might see the city from the sky above.
I would do the same for Khulan and Chuluuna, the best I could. I only wished that I had a way to collect their ashes, bring them to the surface. Even if I couldn’t fixed Khulan or repaired my relationship with Chuluuna, I had hoped that I could have shown them the sky, the real sky, one last time. This funeral pyre would be my way of saying goodbye.
I took out the choker D’Nadia had given me in a gold benefactor box, and put it on. Refusing the gift and promises of my sponsor had been an act of defiance, against her and the script that had been written from me. But now, wasting the item’s ability on something sentimental felt like a fitting way to say, “fuck you”, to the empress, the showrunners, the viewers, and even the Dungeon AI.
The choker, a black leather piece studded with silver spikes and a skull-shaped clasp, looked like something an edgy goth teenager would wear. Velma insisted on calling it a collar.
Fanged Choker of the Howling Arsonista. Special Addition to the Firestarter Line of Accessories. “Tserendolgor” Edition.
This is a Unique Item.
Designed by Princess D’Nadia of the Prism Kingdom, this one-of-a-kind item was gifted to Crawler Tserendolgor. It was personally signed by Princess D’Nadia.
Protects the wearer from a variety of thermal hazards, including the environmental effects of heat and fire-based magic effects. Wearer is immune to the burn condition and doesn’t not suffer the effect of smoke inhalation.
This item is part of a set and adds +5% fire resistance to the wearer for every additional item for the Firestarter line of accessories that is equipped by the wearer.
The item has been upgraded. The wearer may now cast a level-15 Heatwave spell once every five hours.
I had received additional Firestarter accessories from my second sponsor, Pelage Couture Inc., on the fifth and sixth floors—ear piercings with large two-sided spikes, similar to the choker’s. The piercings were enchanted for durability, but otherwise had no effects beyond boosting the choker’s fire resistance. As such, Pelage Couture had been able to send them to me in the cheapest of the benefactor boxes: a bronze box. Further, because of my larger ears and elongated mouth, I had twice as many facial equipment slots than a human crawler: twelve on my ears, and six on my lips—yes, Gnolls had lips. I could wear a lot of piercings.
Pelage Couture’s Interstellar Boutiques were venues set up throughout the Inner System, and, D’Nadia had signed a contract with them to sell her fashionwear. Unlike D’Nadia, Pelage Couture purchased my sponsorship slot after my encounter with Dount, when my popularity soared. They paid handsomely for me, and as such, included a contractual obligation in the purchuse agreement, demanding that I showcase their clothing lines, accessories, and cosmetics while in the dungeon and appearing on their fashion runway productions at least once a floor. At least I got to keep the clothing afterwards.
It felt like returning to my old life. The world had ended and yet I found myself modeling again. Playing a game I never wanted to play again. I resented how easily I fell back into the routine—smiling for cameras, performing for an audience. Despite the lack of autonomy, despite the fact I had no choice in the matter, the runway productions provided me with a welcomed sense of normalcy. Time away from the insanity of the dungeon.
Sometimes, I even looked forward to the productions.
Sponsoring a crawler was still funding the Crawl, but Pelage Couture was only after advertisement. Compared to everything I have been put through during my time in the dungeon, such a thing didn’t even register to me as a transgression. The forces of consumerism were no different to me than the forces of gravity: just a property of the universe. So I wore their clothes, participated in commercial, and even performed product placements in the dungeon, dancing on the stages they made for me. It was just how the game was played.
But what D’Nadia had done more than some petty transgression, she had joined Faction Wars. It was more than funding the Crawl for advertisement, it was actively participating in it. Participating in the slaughter. She had been at the Butcher’s Masquerade, and she offered me protection for my team in exchange for helping her take down another faction. I agreed, not realizing the trap I was walking into. Not knowing Carl and Donut had already secured their spots in Faction Wars, and not realizing how the showrunners and the dungeon AI would take advantage of the situation. How they would force me and my team into a doomed narrative.
I had received an upgrade from my choker after I had lost to the Keyholder, a parting gift from D’Nadia, one with spell meant to kill Carl.
Heatwave
Have you ever sat in a car after it’s been left out in the sun during the hottest day of the summer? The heat inside is oppressive, makes you feel like you're being cooked from the inside, and as you sit back in the seat the tender backside of your arm touches that metal seatbelt buckle—yowza! Unbeknownst to you, your little deathtrap-on-wheels has been acting as a solar oven, and making the inside hotter than the very asphalt that you could fry an egg on. And to think you monkeys would leave your pets and babies in there—but you know all about cooking children. Now imagine you could make this into a spell. Because sometimes hot just isn’t good enough. Sometimes, you need to feel the burn, in your very bones.
This spell drastically raises the temperature within a certain radius, subjecting the surrounding environment to the Extreme Heat condition. Within range, fire damage is double and 25% more likely to inflict burns. All flames burn hotter, brighter, and cannot be extinguished through natural means. So if you step yourself on fire, you better dunk yourself in a lake cause stop-drop-and-roll ain’t going to save your ass.
Cost: This is an item-based spell. This spell does not require mana to cast. If you unequip the associated item, you will lose access to this spell. The cooldown will not reset.
Target: a 15-meter radius sphere centered around the caster + 1 meter of radius per level of Intelligence.
Duration: 5 minutes + 15 seconds for every level of Constitution.
With an Intelligence of 55 and a Constitution of 40, I could cast Heatwave in a 70-meter radius for 15 minutes. The spell would have been a game-changer against the Keyholder. But D’Nadia hadn’t given it to me to use against the Keyholder, providing it only after I lost, when I would have no choice but to fulfill my promise to D’Nadia. I wasn't supposed to use it to win, or to use it as intend, but use it for its secondary effect, which I discovered through a system warning:
Warning: in case you aren’t familiar with Extreme Heat, let me fill you in. All combustible objects subject to this environmental hazard will have a 10% chance to spontaneously ignite for every passing minute, and items subject to thermal degradation rules will immediately destabilize. Creatures without resistance to fire or heat effects will lose two percent health every second and cannot recover from burns. So warn your friends before you use this spell. They don’t typically like it when their gelled-up hair catches on fire or when the metal items they are wearing heat up like the aforementioned seat belt buckle. Or if a certain someone’s explosives blew up in their face—hint hint.
Carl regularly used hand thrown explosives. His hob-lobbers contained the power of several sticks of dynamite. If he took one out of his inventory while within range of my choker, while the spell was in effect, it would absolutely kill him. Donut would still be a problem, but without Carl, and with the power Heatwave would provide Velma, it could be enough to put her down as well.
The description and the warning were provided by the dungeon AI, and based on the wording, I could tell the AI also knew what D’Nadia intended for me to do with the choker, and was all for it. Not because it thought I would succeed, but because it would make for a good show. The fact it still gave me a choice to go somewhere other than Cuba had felt like a trap. As if it were saying, “I dare you to go somewhere else, let's see what happens”. Yet, though I went to Cuba, I hadn’t followed through with my promise: I hadn’t fought Carl. Now, my entire team was dead, and I was left to face the consequences for not playing along.
But, I had one more promise I could fulfill. I had promised Velma I’d cast Updraft, and I was going to use it, along with Heatwave, to ensure I create a pyre big enough, and hot enough, to turn everything in and around the ruined capital to ashes.
I received Updraft during class specialization. It was expensive to cast, requiring an exuberant 50 mana—Wall of Fire by comparison, only cost 15 mana. I had cast the spell a few times and it did exactly what you’d expect, it created an updraft, an swirling upward current of air. I could use it to stoke fires and spread them, but I could accomplish the same thing with my Elevate Flame or Control Fire spells for a fraction of the cost. I had marked the spell as a dud. That was, until I met Mordecai, who knew the ins and outs of fire magic, and warned me to never use the spell again.
Because Updraft was a war spell.
It was designed to be used on floors like the Hunting Grounds of the sixth floor or during Faction Wars on the ninth floor—wide open and forested floors with lots of flammable material. My spell was at level 6, and the reason it hasn’t worked for me in the past, thankfully, was because I hadn’t been able to maintain an adequate blaze. Either it wasn’t hot enough, or I lacked enough fuel to prevent the reaction from burning itself out. But, if used correctly, even at its current level, it could turn a small fire into a massive inferno.
There was also the issue of not cooking myself in the process. My Fire Shield was meant for sustained fire damage but for absorbing sudden bursts of fire or heat, such as from a Fireball or Flame Strike. The shield was essentially a separate pool of health that took damage from heat or fire before my own health, which protected me from injuries or debuffs related to fire damage. Higher fire resistance worked on the shield the same way it worked on myself, reducing the total damage taken. But the shield couldn’t regenerate while it was being damaged, and it would give out before I’d be able to complete the reaction set off by Updraft.
But both the issue of fuel and fire damage were solved by the Firestarter set. With the combination of the various additive and multiplicative sources of fire resistance received from my class, from Velma, the set, and the addition of a single Fire Resistance potion, I’d have just over 100% fire resistance. My Fire Shield wouldn’t take any damage while still protecting me from any and all heat and fire related effects. It would be more than enough to withstand the fire generated by Heatwave. Hell, I could probably swim in lava if I wanted to.
I activated Heatwave, and the accelerant ignited instantly. I felt the heat intensify as the spell amplified the flames. They grew hotter and brighter, reaching dozens of feet in the sky. The air became hot as a furnace, yet with my resistance, it felt like a dry sauna. Rather pleasant really.
Experience notifications were popping up in my feed as mobs around the periphery were getting incinerated by the growing flame. But I took my time before casting Updraft, taking advantage of my environment. Inside this immense fire, nothing could reach me, I was untouchable, and it was inside this immense fire that I could grieve in privacy. The heat evaporated my tears as fast as they formed, denying the ever-present eyes of the universe from watching me cry. They would not get their entertainment.
A moment to myself.
“Oh, I just love what you have done with the place. You two really know how to party,”
The voice startled me. I looked down, at my feet, to see the head of a talking sex-doll—Samantha. The head was possessed by the Writhing Spirit of the lesser deity Psamathe, and Samantha was nearly indestructible. Carl and Donut had found and befriended her on the fifth floor.
“Samantha?” I blinked, trying to clear my vision. “When did you get here?”
I hadn’t much interaction with Samantha, who spent much of her time with Carl or harassing other members of the guild. She was fond of Louis and hit on him constantly. Probably because he was engaged.
“Oh, just dropping by to see the show. And what a show it is! You really know how to light up a place.”
Velma: We haven’t even gotten to the best part. We are going to burn this whole city to the ground.
“Oh, boy, oh, boy”, Samantha bounced up, landing on my shoulder where she quivered with excitement, “I can’t wait to see this. Will there be fireworks? Can we invite others? There are several pleasure demons all over the city. We can have an orgy! Orgies make everything better”.
“No, and we are not burning down the city. Just this building. Maybe a few others”, I said, caught off guard by Samantha suddenly attaching to my shoulder. The way she gripped me with her neck was strange and unsettling.
Velma: If only Ren shared your vision. She’s too restrained to do anything interesting. I doubt she has even kissed a man.
“What? Yes I have”, I stammered.
Samantha clucked her tongue. “Honey, sounds like you have too many repressed desires. It's bad for your health. Will give you bald spots. Let me hook you up with someone. It will make you feel better. I will show you how to seduce them. Another man or woman. Maybe both. There someone you fancy?
Velma: She does, and you can tell because her tail starts wagging.
“No it doesn’t!” This conversion was going in a direction I was not comfortable with. Nor had I expected Samantha to be able to talk to Velma. Her sentience wasn’t a secret from the guild, unlike Florin’s shotgun, which was something kept between us. The guild knew about Velma, but they couldn’t hear her, not that she ever tried to speak to anyone else save for Mordecai—for death threats mostly. So listening to her striking up a conversion with Samantha startled me. One unstable personality I could handle. But two?
Ren: Carl, how do I get Samantha to shut up? You didn’t tell me she was a pervert.
Carl: Anyone who’s spent time in the Nothing tends to have several screws loose. Just ignore her. She’s harmless… mostly.
Ren: I can’t ignore her, she's talking to Velma. They are enabling each other.
Carl: Samantha, stop harassing Ren.
Samantha: This is not harassment, I’m trying to help a girlfriend out. Hook her up with someone nice.
Donut: WAIT, IS REN GETTING DATING ADVICE FROM SAMANTHA? SHE MUST BE REALLY DESPERATE.
"Aaah!", I half screamed, half growl with frustration. I was trying to have a moment to myself to mourn and was now getting wrapped up in some ridiculous side discussion with not one, not two, but three unbearable personalities.
Let’s just get this over with and get out of here, I thought to myself as I cast Updraft.
Warning: You are currently Empowered. Your spell has been upcasted at level 15.
“What the hell!” I muttered. The spell had jumped nine levels. But how?
Instead of creating a small vortex akin to a dustdevil, what formed was a goddamn tornado. The powerful column of swirling air formed above and around me, pulling in not just the fire and smoke, but burning debris, small chunks of rubble, and even mobs from the surrounding, igniting anything that was still unburnt. The wind whipped around me violently, the flames climbing higher and merging into the giant burning cyclone. Yet, in the center, where I stood, the calm air stood still and glowed as if it were in a kiln.
Sparks sprung up from the rubble as heat penetrated deep into the ground, incinerating all that burned beneath my feet, and cinders rose from my body and the dried blood ignited and flaked off. I marveled at its beauty and felt the immense heat. Horrified by what I had just done.
At level 5 was Updraft was already dangerous, and suicidal to cast at level 10 without protections. But level 15? I was just trying to make a funeral pyre; this was goddamn overkill. I had used napalm for Christ's sake. At this rate it would become an ever-growing inferno.
My fears were confirmed by a notification from my Fire Investigation skill.
Your conflagration is now stabilized. It will continue to evolve for 10 minutes and become a firestorm. Please evacuated the surrounding area.
Mordecai was going to be pissed.